Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Strangers ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: I do not own DB/Z/GT. *sigh* And I'm far too tired from writing this chapter to think up anything funny. Sorry!

A/N: Way too long between updates. I know. And I'm very sorry about that. There's no excuse except that I lost interest in this, and didn't want to finish. But since I've been in a bad mood for a few days -- and was listening to my friend's Linkin Park CD -- the end of this long-awaited (*snort*) story came to me.

Boy oh boy, this was hard to write . . . #17 is an unstable character, and probably the most difficult person I've ever attempted to write. There are so many facets of him that are untouched in the anime, that it's hard to tell where the limits are.

Well, you tell me. Ugh. This took a darn long time to write, and despite the fact that I think the ending is confusing, I'm proud of it. #17 is confusing. None of his motives really make sense, and that's what I played upon here.

Okay. Read on! After people read his chapter I'm going to put it all into one story like I said last time, but I'll wait for a bit.

Last time on Strangers:

Without giving #18 a chance to reply -- if she even would have -- #17 deliberately pried her fingers from his hair and flew away. Don't look back, he told himself, feeling the first flutterings of indecision beginning to beat in his heart, poking through the betrayal. Don't look back. You'll only regret it!

He didn't look back.

******

Strangers

Artificial Human #18 could only stare as she watched the energy trail of her twin disappear against the blue sky. "What did I say to him?" she pressed a hand to her mouth in shock, remembering the harshness of her words, and the look of hatred on #17's face when she had said them. Her shoulders shook slightly, despite her caustic assertion that she wouldn't cry for him once he was gone.

"#18?"

The soft, inquisitive and concerned voice floated to her on the ocean breeze, and #18 squeezed her eyes shut. Oh no . . . not Kuririn, she thought despairingly, Not now!

"#18, are you all right?"

She could feel him reach up to touch her shoulder, though she knew he wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and comfort her. He wouldn't dare, though - not when she was in this mood. #18 shook him off with a careless shrug, not replying.

"'Nana-oji," Marron, clinging to Kuririn's pant leg, supplied helpfully.

Kuririn gasped inarticulately, and #18 squeezed out an affectionate smile. "I've told you before, Marron, it's Juunanagou. His name is Number Seventeen, not Seven."

"Knew dat."

"#17 was here? Is that why you wanted to 'fly around for a while'?" Kuririn sounded incredulous, but not angry. #18 knew he wouldn't be, but she was a little disappointed . . . she wanted a reason to hit something.

#18 nodded, letting out a small sigh as her mind recalled the conversation, mercilessly pounding her with every cruel word exchanged between them. "We . . . talked," she replied evasively. "And he left."

She felt Kuririn slip his hand in hers, squeezing her fingers gently. "You wanna' talk about it?" he asked quietly, sitting on the sand and drawing her down beside him. #18 shook her head, not trusting herself to speak just yet.

"Give me a few minutes," she told him, still casting her gaze over the ocean. Though she refused to admit it to herself, #18 knew she was hoping her brother would return, though she didn't know what she would say if he did. Who am I kidding, anyway? #18 thought bitterly, Youknow he isn't coming back.

Funny thing was, while a little part of her brain was telling her to be happy, that her brother was leaving her to live her own life in peace, the greater half was still upset. While #17 seemed to be able to shake off their twin bond (jokingly dubbed "twin link" during their rampaging days) so easily, #18 was not. She was not willing to abandon her new life to "pick up where she left off" with #17, but now that he had returned, she wasn't so sure she could be perfectly happy at home anymore. Why was life so complicated?

Why did she have to want the best of both worlds?

******

I shouldn't have gone off the handle, #17 berated himself as he flew back to his dwelling in the forest. Stopping in mid-flight and making a beeline for the ground, #17 sat on a rock and rested his forehead in one hand. Is it really so bad that #18 wants a life of her own? I can't expect her to wait around for five years if she thought I was dead.

He shook his head, digging his fingers into his scalp as though the pain from that would take his mind off his muddled thoughts, which were currently tumbling about in his head like clothes inside a washing machine. Emotions he didn't want to feel and memories he desperately wished he wouldn't recall were roiling away inside him, and #17 groaned. He didn't want to think of the past right now - that would cloud his judgement, and most likely make him do something he would regret!

Not that he hadn't already - coming to see #18 in the first place was stupid and juvenile.

Or was it leaving that upset him so?

"It's taking a long enough time to find Son Goku," #18 groused, leaning back in the seat of the van with her fingers laced behind her head. "And you insist on stopping for the night? Honestly, #17, you know we could get there much faster if we didn't rest. We don't need to."

"We don't 'need' to do a lot of things," #17 pointed out, grinning at his irate twin. "But it's fun. And you never know - you might actually find out you like sleeping."

She snorted, turning her head away from him abruptly. "Don't be stupid. It's a waste of time."

#17 just guffawed again and he stretched and yawned pointedly, chuckling at the glares #18 sent him. "C'mon, #18, don't you want to savour this for a while?"

"Savour what? Getting attacked by lecherous men on motorcycles? Driving in a disgusting pink van? Or perhaps you mean wearing this horrible outfit?"

"All of it! Who knows what'll happen after we kill Son Goku - don't you want to enjoy driving around, just us, with nobody telling us what to do?" #17 waved his arms expressively, narrowly avoiding smacking #18 in the face, and earning a scowl in return. "It's you and me, sis' . . . how does that song go? You know, the one that played on the radio about six times?"

#18 chuckled dryly in spite of herself, and she wrinkled her nose. "'You and Me Against the World'," she rolled her eyes. "That sickeningly touching song by some annoying human? #17, I think you've been exposed too much to human softness."

"Sickening or not, it works," #17 shrugged. "After Son Goku's gone, there's nothing left for us to do except hang around and have fun. It's just the two of us."

A deep, sonorous voice echoed from the backseat. "Why do you not include me in this, #17?" #16 asked, though he didn't sound particularly concerned. Indeed, with that monotone of his, he never sounded enthused about anything. "I am, after all, included in the mission."

"Sorry, buddy," #17 called back, rolling his eyes at #18 and grinning, and he was rewarded by a quiet laugh. "Didn't mean to exclude you or anything. But hey, #18's my sister. That's kind of different."

"I . . . don't understand."

"Never mind. Don't worry about it."

#18 shook her head a little, and by the dim glow of the dashboard lights, #17 saw the corners of her mouth lift. "You're crazy, #17," she declared decisively, but in a rare act of familiarity, she punched him lightly on the shoulder, then left her hand there for a few seconds. #17 slapped the back of her head in response, and the two siblings settled into a comfortable silence.

"After we defeat Son Goku," #18 spoke after a time, her voice only slightly muffled by sleep. "I don't want anything to change."

"Now who's being sickening and soft?" #17 scoffed, but inwardly he fervently agreed with her . . .

#17 snorted, straightening up and massaging his temples, wondering why he was suddenly doubting his decision. It had seemed so clear when he had been talking to #18 . . . but now . . .

He didn't know anything anymore. Frowning, #17 got to his feet, glancing around at the forest he inhabited, at the deep green of the leaves, and the golden sunlight filtering through the canopy. The isolation from humans had always been welcome, but recently it had seemed oppressive . . . almost . . . lonely?

His eyes widened. What the hell? he demanded sharply. Loneliness? That useless, human emotion? Ye gods . . . the cybernetic implants in his brain had to be short-circuiting. That was the only explanation. It had to be the only explanation!

Nevertheless, #17 found himself levitating into the air and heading back, once more, to the island with the stupid-looking house. He didn't know why. He had spoken with his sister, and knew quite well of how their paths had separated. The tapestry of #17 and #18 had unravelled forever, and he didn't want to chase after loose threads like some sort of sentimental idiot.

He wouldn't speak to her again. #17 knew that. He had done so already. #18 didn't even need to know he was there - he just wanted to see her again. To see if her scathing epithet was true - to see if she really wasn't going to cry for him.

Against his will, #17's mouth curved up in a smirk. He knew #18 would cry. Years ago she would not have, but that said nothing for the weak, soft human she had become now. Kuririn, that stupid man . . . he had softened her. Weakened her. Turned her from the perfect weapon she once was into a worthless, biological creature, just like every other human on the planet.

It was interesting, the clarity that came with his sudden anger. It was though someone had taken an invisible pair of scissors and suddenly cut through all the ties that connected #17 to his sister, one by one. Loneliness? Snip! Gone. Remorse? Snip! Gone as well. Regret, compassion, connection, kinship . . . all were erased by the unknown source.

#17 smiled again, speeding up in his flight. He wanted to see #18 crying . . . wanted to see the power he still held over her. He knew he did - he always had, whether either of them admitted it or not. #18 might have said she would never cry, but somehow, #17 knew she was lying.

In this world of humans, aliens, and warriors stronger than he, that feeling of power, no matter how slight, was all #17 had left.

******

Kuririn looked at his wife with sympathy as she cried, but he didn't know what to say. Marron had been sent inside with Rôshi, since the little girl hated to see her Mommy cry, and Kuririn was left alone with his distraught wife.

Kuririn had never asked #18 about her brother - never really understood the bond between them. #18 had never mentioned it either, though he knew she thought about him often.

The small human sighed, and #18 glanced at him. She was still beautiful even when she cried . . . something about Gero's modifications had stopped her eyes from reddening and her face from puffing up. She looked like some ancient sculpture of female perfection, unmovable, untouchable . . .

"What?" #18 asked reluctantly, her voice thick with emotion.

"He's not part of your life anymore," Kuririn said quietly. He knew his words weren't exactly comforting, but #18 needed to hear them - whether or not she wanted to. "You shouldn't cry over him. You have a family and friends . . . you don't need to tear yourself up. You've chosen your life, and #17 chose his."

#18 nodded, though it was out of obedience more than anything. "I know," her voice shook, and she lowered her head, hiding her face.

Kuririn reached out and touched her chin, raising her face. He wiped a stray tear with his thumb, brushing her silken hair away from her eyes. "You'll be all right. I still love you."

Before #18 could speak, Kuririn leaned in and kissed her, tasting the tears on her trembling lips. Normally he was tentative with his physical demonstrations of love, but this time he felt the need to be more forceful. His mouth covered hers with what Kuririn could only call possession, and his arms wrapped around her tightly. He needed to show her that #17 didn't own her anymore . . .

It was the right thing to do. #18 pulled him closer, kissing him frantically with enough force to take away both his breath and his balance. He toppled over backwards onto the sand, taking #18 down with him, but #18 didn't appear to notice. She became insistent, her mouth joining with his almost ferociously, searching for comfort and belonging in his embrace. She wanted affirmation that he would never leave her - that in him, she could find release from her brother and the pain he caused. That he could fill the void left inside her. Kuririn responded willingly, chasing away #18's negative emotions with his love, his touch, his kisses . . .

******

If jinzouningen could have heart attacks, #17 would have suffered the very first one. He arrived at the Turtle Island expecting - needing - to see his sister in a fit of self-inflicted sorrow . . . weeping, sobbing, unconsolable. Her husband wouldn't know how to deal with her.

Instead of that, he found . . .

#17's first thought was to look away, but he couldn't. Initially he'd thought #18 was killing Kuririn somehow, since Kuririn's power reading was high, like in battle mode, and #18 was atop him in the sand. But it didn't take long to realize that the hand Kuririn snaked in #18's hair was pulling her closer, not pushing her off, and #18's ferocity was based in passion, not killer-rage.

They were still clothed, thank goodness - else #17 might had self-destructed then and there. As he watched, however, one of Kuririn's hands slipped beneath the hem of #18's t-shirt, his fingers tracing the contours of her muscled back . . . #18's kiss and caress became even more insistent, if that was even possible . . .

#17 turned away abruptly, feeling violently, physically sick. He clamped a hand down over his eyes, hard, not wanting to see what his mind insisted on replaying over and over. No. NO! #18 was supposed to be . . . supposed to be broken - she shouldn't be doing - doing - that . . . !

His hand trembled and shook, then curled spasmodically into a clenched fist. Energy sparked around his closed fingers in a white, hissing display, barely controlled enough to form a ball. The energy turned black, red lightning forking off it, as #17 fought to control himself.

He would kill them . . . kill them all . . . the force of his energy rose, his power surging upwards, and #17's entire body shook violently.

He pointed, aimed. #18 and Kuririn were still oblivious to him, locked in passionate desire, and #17 hated them for it. Hated them both. Despised them for taking away everything he'd used to cement his uncertain life together . . .

Now. He had to do it now - one of them would notice in a minute -

#17 closed his eyes, feeling salty water sting behind his clenched eyelids. His breath escaped him in a rattling wheeze, and without thinking, he fired. Gasping with relief and pent-up rage, #17 waited for the screams.

Nothing happened.

Shocked, the jinzouningen opened his eyes. The pair on the beach had calmed down by now, #18 having rolled off Kuririn and released his mouth for the first time since #17's arrival, and they lay close together, tangled in each other's arms.

Why weren't they dead? Why was the island still intact?

Slowly, #17's gazed trailed to his arm . . . which was pointed upward, toward the sky. He'd missed . . . at the last second, without realizing it, his body refused to kill #18.

He had failed again. He couldn't even kill her - couldn't erase her from his life. Couldn't destroy what was confusing him so badly, even though she had what he couldn't - a life without worrying about who she was, a life with someone who understood her completely.

#17 would have gritted his teeth, but he didn't have the energy anymore. He felt drained, as though Cell had begun to absorb him, but stopped halfway.

Everything . . . everything was gone. Everything he knew, or thought he did, had been entirely flipped around. #18 didn't need him - never had. She didn't want him around anymore . . . he had left her half an hour before, and in that time she quickly forgot about him and flung herself on Kuririn. She'd probably lied to him - most likely she hadn't thought about him at all since the Cell Games.

His hands trembled, and #17 fought with the knot in his bandana as he struggled to untie it. He finally settled for ripping it from his neck, and he looked with loathing at the torn fabric, and the couple resting peacefully on the sand, happy in the aftermath of their frenzy.

They still hadn't noticed him. #17 doubted if they were aware of anything but themselves and each other. How utterly sickening . . .

He dropped the bandana, watching the orange cloth float in the light breeze. Let #18 or one of her family members find it - let her remember that, oh yes, she had a brother! Let her relive the pain he caused, even for a short time . . .

And heaven forbid if she actually remembered him . . .

#17 snarled. To hell with #18. To hell with memories. To hell with everything . . . he didn't need anyone, anything. Nothing was worth it. Everything betrayed him in the end - the day's events were more than solid proof of that.

He spun in the air and flew in the opposite direction, purposely gunning his energy in the hopes that #18 and Kuririn would see him, and know that he had witnessed their "touching" episode.

But since he kept his gaze firmly focussed on what was ahead of him, #17 didn't know if they did or not.

If he had looked, he would have seen that they didn't.

The gust of his departure blew the hovering bandana above the ocean, where it sank lazily into the frothing waves and disappeared. Fish nosed at it curiously, but none paid it any attention. The orange fabric slowly settled into the sand, where time gradually covered it with sand and debris. Years later a scuba diver would see it poking through the silt, but would toss it away like a piece of worthless trash.

On the beach, #18 sighed in relief and rested her head against Kuririn's chest. His heart was pounding, his breathing still uneven, but he smiled at her. "Feel better?" he asked.

"Yes," #18 felt slightly amused that the pace of her own breathing had elevated, as well, and was just now returning to normal. "Much better . . ." her mouth twisted in displeasure. "I don't know why I let #17 control me like that."

"Well, he is your brother," Kuririn reminded her.

"Was," #18 interrupted darkly, and Kuririn pressed his lips to her forehead in a gesture of comfort. His hand traced lazy circles on her back, his arms wrapped securely around her. "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out, Kuririn. You and Marron are my family - not him. The man who used to be my brother . . . I don't know where he went, but he's not the one who came to see me today."

Kuririn held her close, and #18 felt peace invade her senses like a physical force. For the first time in years, she felt free - despite how painful it had been, she finally had her closure with #17. He was gone, and he wouldn't come back. #18 made her choice, and had chosen the life she now lived, not a crazy dream her brother manufactured for her.

She felt at peace, and she nestled her head in the curve of Kuririn's neck and shoulder, loving the sensation of belonging. #17 was gone, true, but . . . she didn't need him anymore. He no longer had power over her as he used to.

******

Miles away, the clouds swirled and eddied like a whirlpool in the air. Lightning flashed, drawn to this spot by a tremendous outpouring of artificial energy. In the middle of the maelstrom was a single figure, head flung back and arms thrown out, long, black hair flying in the frenzied wind.

Unheard by everyone, Artificial Human #17 screamed.

Fate is a funny thing. That day, as one woman found her purpose and contentment in life, a lone man lost everything he once thought true. He was alone. Estranged. No one understood - not even himself.

The air rang with a single cry, heart-wrenching in its intensity, frightening in the strength of the anger behind it:

"WHY?"

******